


I know he wasn't my dad

by purpleplaidshirt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Irondad, One Shot, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 13:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleplaidshirt/pseuds/purpleplaidshirt
Summary: Peter is still trying to heal. He knows the man who died wasn't his actual father, but the pain tells him otherwise.





	I know he wasn't my dad

**Author's Note:**

> hi, it's my first time here. :)  
> *angst trigger

It was past midnight and Peter had barely written two sentences for his History work. The bright screen from the computer screen was hurting his eyes, tired like he hadn't rested in days - had he? Despite the song blasting from the headphones, he could still hear aunt May's light snoring in the living room, the TV was still on. He had always worked better at night, but since that fateful day, Peter almost couldn't tell the hours apart. He was trying to get back on track, study for finals, catching up with his closest friends. Countdown the days for summer like any other teenager in his classroom. Well, he couldn't, could he? None of his friends had spider senses, none of his friends had to hold the responsibility to fly out to space to try to save the Earth. None of them had failed doing that either.

The guilt grew inside Peter's chest like it was almost too much for him to handle. Gasping for air, Peter threw his head back and let out a long sigh. It was useless to try and write down about whatever war happened before the eighteenth century. Five years had passed and the school system didn't change at all? What were they thinking? Come on! He needed some fresh air. Maybe going out to the terrace would help.

Peter threw his ratty old hoodie on, put on his sneakers and jumped through the window and out onto the terrace. The night was a bit warmer than usual but again, the hoodie wasn't to protect him from the weather. The night took him out of the Queens and into Manhattan, following an old path he learned to get to a tower that wasn't even there anymore. He stopped in his tracks on the terrace of a tall building in the middle of New York. There were still many cars going left and right - the city was busy again. There were people celebrating. He looked around for a moment and caught a glimpse of two shadows in a balcony, a couple laughing loudly, obnoxiously. On the other side, an old man smoking on a chair. Superficially everything and everyone was back to normal. In him there was still a pang that tightened every time he let himself think of the last image he saw of mr. Tony Stark.

Peter jumped around some more and found a quieter spot. There was still movement, but this time he felt he could slow down his heartbeat. It was still very confusing to him to feel that way. Of course, losing someone is never easy, but Peter felt crushed. He continued his daily chores, he obeyed his aunt, he even laughed with his friends, but it all felt so mechanic, so superficial. It was like he was living his days underwater, watching everything through a filter, a fog of sorts. He copied and repeated movements, he did his homework, he ate, he slept. The next day, Peter was still tired.

He knew Tony Stark wasn't actually his dad, but there was still a part of him that believed he almost was. And to have so little time with him felt unfair. An almost childish feeling, but Peter wanted the chance to prove himself to him. He wanted a chance to show Tony he became someone, the chance to learn and to fight, to listen and to give back for all the amazing things he got from him. All he got now were fragments of a life that could be. Peter could feel him welling up and the knot in his throat. It was time to go back home. It was useless to feed those thoughts.

Back in his room, Peter didn't even try to sit in front of the computer anymore. He just lay in his bed and drifted off quickly. That night he didn't dream at all. The next day, he woke up a little lighter, so he thought that, maybe, with time, he would heal.


End file.
